Then she relented at sight of his face.
"I'm almost as disappointed as Elma, you see," she said radiantly.
Mr. Leighton tried to put it out of his mind, but Elma, sobbing in her bedroom, had at last reached a stage where she couldn't pretend that nothing had hurt her, a stage where the feelings of other people might be reckoned not to count at all. It was an unusual condition for her to be in. She generally fought out her disappointments in secret. Her father came to her finally, and began smoothing her hair in a sad sort of way.
"You aren't looking on your own father as your worst enemy?" he asked her kindly.
Elma's sobs stopped abruptly.
"I was," she said abjectly.
It was part of the sincerity of her nature that she immediately recognized where the case against herself came in.
"I'm sorry about Jean," said Mr. Leighton. "It didn't strike me at the time that it would be such a treat to either of you, you see. And we chose the one who seemed most fitted for going with Miss Grace."
"Mabel might have gone," wailed Elma.
Mabel! Not for a moment had the claims of Mabel been mentioned. Mr. Leighton was completely puzzled.